Similes Abound

Tonight, I understood why some women choose to abandon everything their mamas taught them to be groupies. I sat in that audience, staring into what I believe to be the very souls of these men, and felt like no one else was in the room. That music moved me, man. I laughed with them about their wild days with the boys, swooned over their waltzes for their dream girls, and cheered on their raucous antics. It was truly a great night for music.

It got me thinking about how great it is to have a song written for you. To be that one woman sitting in the audience who knows that those beautiful verses are written because she inspired someone...the very thought makes me blush. It must make you feel important to this world, like you're immortal.

I had a song written for me, my darlings. I never heard it performed live, but I have a feeling I will someday. Every time I think back to it, I smile at how expressly me it is, and how much it squeezes the lifeblood out of my heart to know it exists. I cherish it. I return to it in my quiet moments. I believe it is the source of my strength on days I feel like quitting everything. I made someone make something beautiful. And that is enough.

Musicians are like mercury, though. Not impossible to have--tangible, even. But they usually slip right through your fingers, no matter how badly you worship them. They are in constant need of recharging the old Inspiration Battery, and that means meandering through this life with a beer bottle in one hand and their heart in the other. We've all crossed their paths, we've seen this happen. The sad part is when someone thinks they've nabbed one, only to find out that they're just a rest stop on that endless highway.

I sat in that audience tonight and wondered what it would be like to meet the eyes of one of them and know that it was me they were searching for. Trouble is, that's rarely the case--the light is always aimed so that everyone standing out there with their hearts a-poundin' is faceless.

forte. g